


Only Fools Rush In (but I can't help falling in love with you)

by Fangirl_on_fire



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate universe - Mafia, Angst, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mafia AU, Major Character Injury, One Night Stands, Romance, well kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-24 08:18:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15626601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirl_on_fire/pseuds/Fangirl_on_fire
Summary: Keith puts the glass down. It leaves a round wet circle on the mahogany counter that is far too expensive to belong in a bar like this one, and the ice inside it clinks dully against the sides like old jewelry.The man across him is familiar, and even if he wouldn’t recognize his face he would definitely recognize his trademark smirk. He leans closer and murmurs, “What’s a pretty boy like you doing in a place like this?”-Lance is a celebrity photographer with a dark not-so-secret secret, and Keith knows trusting him might be a huge mistake.But it could also not be.





	Only Fools Rush In (but I can't help falling in love with you)

_You say my name for the first time, baby, and I fall in love in an empty bar._

Keith puts the glass down. It leaves a round wet circle on the mahogany counter that is far too expensive to belong in a bar like this one, and the ice inside it clinks dully against the sides like old jewelry.

The man across him is familiar, and even if he wouldn’t recognize his face he would definitely recognize his trademark smirk. He’s the type of man to keep his hand on his gun in its holster in a film noir, but this is real life and all he has are his charming, hypnotic eyes and his playful purr of a voice.

The man sits on the stool next to his and motions for the bartender to bring him a drink. The bartender, eyes wide and frightened, instantly pushes a drink he had prepared for another customer towards him, and the man drinks half of it in one gulp, setting it back on the counter.

Then, he leans closer and murmurs, “What’s a pretty boy like you doing in a place like this?”

Keith doesn’t answer him, instead taking another sip from his own glass. The man is a lot more attractive than he is but he definitely isn’t going to tell him.   

“You drink like a girl,” the man comments.

“You drink like someone who is planning on dying within three months,” Keith says evenly. The others are scared of this man but he isn’t.

The man throws his head back and laughs. “At least you understand.”

“I don’t.” Keith stands up and turns his back on him as he moves to make his way through the crowd out the door. He feels a hand on his back.

“Hey,” the man says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Sit down.”

“I’d rather not.”

“You have nothing better to do.”

“I do, actually.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing that I’m about to talk about to a delinquent like you,” Keith says, not bothering with an excuse.

The man seems to take it as a challenge. “I promise I’m better than whatever you have planned.”

Without replying, Keith brushes off his hand and walks outside. The cold air hits him but he doesn’t care and sets off down the road to where he parked his motorcycle. The streets swirl with dust and the wind picks up stray bits of dirt and fallen leaves so breathing it in is like breathing in sulfur. He throws his leg over the motorcycle to sit on the seat.

He glances around, and freezes. The man is there beside him, leaning against the wall with a cigarette between his fingers. His lean figure is barely visible in the shadows.

The man lifts his hand to take a drag from the cigarette and breaths out the smoke. The smoke spreads out, ghostly and pale white, stretching around them like mist.

“What do you want?” Keith asks sharply.

The man raises an eyebrow. “Finally speaking?”

“Well?”

“For someone so pretty, you’re an asshole,” the man says, but he still doesn’t look angry, only vaguely amused. Keith wonders what it would take to anger him.

“Don’t call me pretty. I’m not a girl.”

Before Keith can stop him, the man reaches forward to delicately curl a lock of Keith’s hair around his finger. Quietly, he says, “Maybe you should look in the mirror.”

Keith sighs. This man isn’t the first person to call him pretty but he is the first to argue with him about it. “Who’s the asshole, now?”

“It was a compliment,” the man tells him.

“Maybe you should come up with a better one.”

The man smiles and shrugs. “That’s all you’re getting. Other than my number, of course.”

“And what if I don’t want your number?”

He takes a step backwards to put the cigarette out on the wall, leaving a circular black mark. He doesn’t reply for a few seconds, then says, “Then I’ll back off.”

Keith can’t hide his surprise. “What did you say?”

“I’ll back off.” The man meets Keith’s gaze again, staring at him intently. His eyes are steel blue, with flecks of grey like the salt in the sea, like the blue of the poisonous jellyfish Keith was always warned to stay away from. “I’m not a jerk.”

“Oh.” Keith turns away and fires up the motorcycle. The sound of the engine echoes through the empty street. This neighborhood has a bad reputation and most people are too scared to go out at night. However, he doesn’t care.

The man doesn’t say anything else, and he watches in silence as Keith speeds off down the old, dirty road.

-

The faded beige paint coating the outside of the bar is peeling and cracked like dead skin, and the teenagers that live down the road had sprayed graffiti all over it. It wasn’t obvious in the nighttime, when Keith usually goes, but during the day it is clearly visible and Keith is still thinking about it as he goes inside and sits in his usual spot.

The bartender is Allura, a beautiful silver-haired girl who always smiles at everyone who comes in. “The usual?”

“Sure.”

The bar is always empty during the daytime so Keith is the only one there. The only reason he came is to see Allura, who had become a friend of his, and she usually works day shifts. It probably isn’t healthy to drink at noon but he doesn’t really care.

She pushes the drink across the counter to him. “Here you go. I saw you talking to Lance yesterday.”

Keith tilts his head. “I didn’t see you last night.”

“I was over in the corner with Shiro.” She puts her elbows on the counter and leans over to hear Keith better. “What were you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Keith says. “He tried to make a move on me.”

Her eyes widen. “What did you say?”

“I rejected him.”

She hits her forehead in dismay. “Oh, come on! Keith, Lance McClain could have been my brother-in-law!”

He looks at her skeptically. “Firstly, we’re not siblings. And I wouldn’t marry a criminal like him anyway.”

Lance McClain is known throughout the state as a famous celebrity photographer that somehow has connections to everyone in the US. Very few people know that he is actually the boss of a large branch of the mafia, and even people who suspect it can never prove it because he is too skilled to get caught. Not only is he known for the controversy surrounding his true career, he is also notorious for his charisma and for flirting with everything that has a pulse. Keith often sees him at this bar, but he has never spoken to him before.

Allura pouts. “Can’t you take one for the team and marry him? He’s really rich and apparently he’s actually pretty nice too.”

Keith scoffs. “Nice? Lance McClain?”

“Maybe that was going too far,” Allura admits. “You get what I mean.”

“I’m not going to become a mafia wife,” Keith informs her. “Well, mafia husband.”

The door swings open, and Lance McClain saunters in.

He has a leather satchel slung over one shoulder and a long, thin cut on his face, spanning from his chin to the top of his eyebrow. The eye the cut was over is swollen shut, but his other eye is trained on them.

Allura stills. She recovers quickly, plastering on a smile and saying, “What can I get you?”

Lance glances at Keith, then says, “The strongest you have. And make it two.”

“I don’t want one,” Keith says.

“It’s not for you,” Lance replies, sitting on the stool beside Keith’s. “Hey, pretty boy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Lance laughs and winces, touching the cut on his face. He picks up one of the drinks Allura gives him and takes a long swig, then another. Keith wants to ask what happened but he knows it isn’t a good idea so he doesn’t say anything.

When Lance finishes his first drink, he says, “How’ve things been with you?”

Keith blinks. “Alright, I guess.” Taking a risk, he says, “Definitely not as interesting as your life.”

Lance’s fingers tighten around his second glass. For a moment, Keith thinks he will become angry, but he gives an awkward laugh. “Can I smoke in here?”

“Yes,” Allura says, so he pulls out a packet and takes out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a drag from it.

He exhales out the smoke. The way he holds the cigarette was almost poetic, holding it in his hand like it is the stem of a flower.

However, Keith isn’t the type of person to romanticize smoking. “Do you have to do that?”

He expects Lance to make fun of him, but Lance silently pulls the ashtray towards himself and puts it out, dropping it into the ashes.

Allura stares at Keith, speechless. She shoots him a look that says, _he definitely likes you,_ and Keith looks away. Lance is still watching him.

“That looks painful,” Keith says tentatively. The cut on Lance’s face is a bright angry scarlet and it looks pretty deep.

Lance looks him over as if assessing if he is trying to pry information out of him. After a moment, he says, “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“How did it happen?”

Lance acts as if he hadn’t heard him, drinking more of his amber drink. Keith has no idea what is in it but he seems to be relaxing as if his pain ceased, so it must be strong.

Soon the second drink was finished so he asks Allura for another one. Stifling a laugh, she goes to prepare it.

“You’re really knocking those back,” Keith notes.

“I had a bad day,” Lance says shortly.

“It’s barely twelve.”

Lance gestures towards Keith’s own drink, which is laying untouched. “Says you.”

“This is my first.”

“We all have ways of coping.” Lance shrugs and gives him a light smile. “This is mine.”

“Coping with what? You’re only a celebrity photographer,” Keith jokes, knowing he is treading on thin ice. If Lance assumes he is mocking him…

By now Lance must have realized that Keith knows about his real position, but he gratefully leaps on the excuse. “You wouldn’t believe what assholes most celebrities are.”

“I can guess.” Keith takes a small sip of his own drink.

“Still drinking like a girl, I see,” Lance teases.

Keith glares at him, and picks up the glass again to down the rest of it in one gulp. His throat is burning and his stomach aches but the shocked expression on Lance’s face is worth it.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Lance says, slowly shaking his head. “You’re crazy.”

“Don’t underestimate what I would do to win an argument.”

“What about dares?” Lance asks, the mischievous glint back in his eyes.

“I stick to my dares,” Keith says. He regrets it instantly.

Lance leans closer and puts his hand on Keith’s wrist. Keith forgets how to breathe. All he can focus on is the smell of the whisky on Lance’s breath and the warmth radiating off him. “You never told me your name.”

Though he knows it’s a terrible idea, Keith tells him.

Lance hums. “Keith. It suits you.”

His heart skips a beat.

“Keith.” Lance isn’t smiling anymore and the intense look is back in his eyes.

He is now holding his breath.

“I dare you to kiss me.”

So Keith kisses him. Lance’s breath catches, clearly not expecting Keith to comply, but his lips part and he is kissing him back, his fingers tight in Keith’s hair as he pulls him closer, almost knocking him off the bar stool. He still tastes like whisky, rum, and cigarette smoke but Keith doesn’t care and sweeps his tongue around his mouth, wanting to taste as much of him as possible before they will have to stop.

He knows what they are doing is insane, they don’t even know each other, but for once he stops calculating everything in his mind and lets his emotions take over. He lets himself _feel,_ the sensations coursing through him like a waterfall against the rocks below.

Lance breaks the kiss to gasp for air and Keith does too, trying to get his bearings after the kiss had dissolved all his thoughts into cigarette smoke _._

“I didn’t know you were such a good kisser,” Lance says, still breathless. His lips are bright red and Keith feels _something_ well up inside him.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

Lance’s eyes darken and he tugs Keith closer to him again to slate his mouth over his, his fingers digging into Keith’s shoulders as if he isn’t allowing him to get up and leave. And Keith doesn’t _want_ to leave. He could stay here kissing Lance in an empty bar forever. So when Lance tries to pull away, already saying something, he grabs a fistful of his shirt to keep him close, feeling the worn fabric against his fingers as Lance kisses him senseless, making him forget everything but this feeling and _I want you, I want you, I want you._

Then he hears a bottle shattering on the ground like a gunshot and they spring apart to see Allura standing there with a shocked look on her face.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Keith says hastily.

Lance smirks. “It’s exactly what it looks like.”

Allura’s mouth drops open comically. “I can’t believe this!”

“It’s not that weird,” Keith tries, but Allura gives him a scathing look so he stays quiet.

“Just two bros, making out platonically ‘cause we’re not gay,” Lance sings, clearly finding the whole situation hilarious. Keith facepalms internally.

“You made out with Lance McClain!” Allura squeals, as if Lance McClain isn’t sitting right there.

“I did,” Keith says uncomfortably. He loves Allura, he really does, but right now he’s cursing her for interrupting them like that.

Allura seems to realize this, and her expression turns embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry! It’s just…” she sighs. “Do you have to make out here?”

Lance looks at Keith, silently asking him a question, and Keith nods.

“Thanks for the drinks,” Keith says, pulling his wallet out of his pocket. “How much?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Allura says indignantly. “It’s on the house.”

“Thank you.”

Allura waves a hand and he knows he’s being dismissed, so they stand up and he follows Lance outside to Lance’s car, a shiny grey Mercedes that probably costs more than what Keith’s entire tuition cost. He will have to leave his motorcycle here but he can always get it tomorrow, so he gets into the passenger seat and Lance begins driving down the road. Then it hits him that he is in the car of a known mafia boss and he didn’t ask where they are going. Oh, he is _screwed._

“Are you going to kill me?” Keith asks before he can stop himself.

Lance glances over at him and frowns. “Are you joking?”

“You are a stranger,” Keith reminds him. “And you-” he quickly cuts himself off before he says it, and Lance gives him a knowing look. They are both avoiding the subject. He decides to ask a safer question. “Where are we going?”

“My house,” Lance says, glancing at him again. “Is that alright?”

Keith is about to reconsider this when he remembers the feelings of Lance’s hands on his body and the taste of him. “Definitely.”

If Lance is surprised by his sudden enthusiasm, he doesn’t say anything. It isn’t long before they arrive at Lance’s house. Keith had thought that Lance lives in a mansion or a fancy suburban villa, but he lives on the thirteenth floor of a grimy apartment building Keith had passed by countless times. It’s strange to think that a mafia boss lives in a place like this, and Keith starts feeling suspicious. Maybe he’s wrong.

Lance is quiet the whole way up on the elevator ride, repeatedly crossing and crossing his legs as if he’s nervous about something. Finally, they reach his flat and they go inside. It’s nothing like what Keith imagined. It’s a completely normal flat, with normal furniture and no mafia stuff in plain sight. Keith silently scolds himself for thinking something so dumb. Of course he won’t leave guns where people can see them.

Now that they’re here, Lance isn’t as confident as he was before.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Keith asks.

Lance looks up. “Are you sure?”

“I want this,” Keith says, and his heart whispers, _I want you._ “But if you don’t want to, I don’t mind.”

“Of course I want to. I just…” he hesitates. “You probably expected more than this.”

“I don’t care about where we are. We could be in an airport bathroom for all I care. Either way, I still want this.” Keith takes a deep breath. “I want you.”

“You don’t know me,” Lance whispers.

“I know enough.”

Without warning, Lance pushes him against the wall, a blazing look in his eyes that almost looks angry, and he kisses Keith hungrily, like he wants to take everything out of Keith that he can, like he’s drawing something out of him with each movement of his mouth and each breath that he holds back in favor of drowning himself in the kiss. And Keith isn’t thinking as he wraps his leg around Lance’s waist and Lance holds this thigh there as he hooks his other leg around his hips too, and they break the kiss to stare at each other, both flushed and crimson.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Lance breathes, and Keith tightens his legs around him as his lips trail down to Keith’s neck to press wet kisses on his pulse point. Keith gasps and his eyes roll back in his head as Lance sucks a dark red mark and bites down on his collarbone before running his tongue over it. Keith’s hands find their way into Lance’s hair and press his head down so he can feel Lance’s soft hair against his jaw and his mouth is still on Keith’s skin, and it is so sexy Keith nearly loses it right there.

“I’m going to have—” another gasp— “the worst marks tomorrow.” 

Lance looks up at him and he practically _growls,_ “Good,” and _shit,_ Keith is _so close_ because there is that possessiveness he is looking for, and he tilts his head back to allow Lance better access because he wants marks everywhere, to show the world that even if this is only for one night, Lance McClain chose Keith for this night.

Somehow, they make it to the bedroom and Lance throws Keith down on the bed and straddles him, still kissing him as they both take off their shirts and leave them on the floor, and Keith struggles out of his jeans. The room is too hot but he doesn’t care, savoring the heat as if it were a comforting blanket around him. They are really going to do this.

 Lance shoots Keith a questioning look as he kisses his way down his body to reach his thighs as if he is expecting Keith to stop him, but he doesn’t stop him so he presses a kiss to the inside of Keith’s thigh, holding him down as Keith tries to spread his legs reflexively. Lance looks up at him through his lashes and he looks like he’s about to say something dirty, but instead he sucks a prominent mark on the pale flesh. He turns his attention to his other thigh, leaving a matching mark there and biting down so Keith arches his back and lets out a cry. It’s borderline painful but he loves it and he objects when. Lance’s lips leave his body.

But a second later Lance’s mouth is on his cock and a jolt runs through his whole body as he licks a wet stripe up it, rubbing the tip with his nimble fingers.

“Fuck,” Keith gasps.

“That’s the idea,” Lance says, winking playfully before curling his fingers around the base of Keith’s cock and taking it in his mouth. Keith clenches the silk bedsheet in his hands and he almost pulls it right off the bed when Lance swirls his tongue around the tip of his cock before moving his head downwards, low enough that he brushes the back of Lance’s throat. The warmth enveloping him and the wetness of Lance’s mouth is unbearable and he lets go of the bedsheets to grab a fistful of Lance’s hair.

Lance says a quiet _fuck_ and the sound is like music. He hums around Keith and the vibrations send pulses up his nerves, frying all his thoughts until Keith knows nothing but this feeling and Lance’s name, tasting like honey on his lips. Then Lance pulls his lips off him to take a deep breath of air, but he continues to run his fingers along the side of Keith’s cock. Keith jerks up into his palm again, desperate for more friction, but Lance gives him a look. He knows that Keith isn’t going to last much longer and Keith realizes what this means.

 “Do you want-” Lance cuts himself off but Keith understands and nods, so he reaches over to his bedside drawer to take out a bottle of lube and a condom packet. He tears open the packet and easily rolls on the condom, and Keith would love to see this but he just can’t keep his eyes open so it’s a shock when he feels Lance’s finger push into him. He gasps and his whole body tenses at the unfamiliarity, and it’s not painful but it feels weird anyway. After a moment the discomfort passes so Lance pushes in another finger, and another, and by then Keith is begging for him to fuck him.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Lance huffs, and his tone is irritated but his eyes are sparkling so Keith knows they’re alright. Lance licks his lips and pulls out his fingers, wiping them on the ruined bedsheets before applying the lube to himself. Keith isn’t sure how to do this and that’s when he remembers that he’s never done this before.

Lance notices and says, “We don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” Keith says. “I’m just nervous. It’s—” he swallows hard— “it’s my first time.”

Lance’s eyes widen. “Are you sure you want me to be your first?”

“I’m sure.” And Keith is really sure, because even though he barely knows this man he feels connected to him and though he knows it’s ridiculous he feels safe in his arms. Now it’s Lance’s turn to look uncertain, but his hair is messy and his gaze is more than a little desperate and Keith knows that the only reason Lance is uncertain is because he is worried that Keith is. But Keith is absolutely certain.

“We can still stop,” Lance tries to say and Keith almost screams with frustration because he’s burning all over and he’s desperate for Lance to do _something._

“Shut up and fuck me,” Keith says. He squeezes his eyes shut as he feels Lance enter him and he can feel it in every part of his body, painful at first and then longing, longing for more. Keith needs more but Lance is still looking at him anxiously and he thinks that Lance must be the only mafia boss that’s this tender with a complete stranger.

He clutches Lance and moves his legs back so Lance can push in deeper, and Keith is in love with this feeling, feeling satisfied and safe like this, and he suddenly wonders if he’s in love with Lance because all he wants to do now is kiss Lance and tell him how he thinks the sun would fall out of the sky if he leaves him. _No. Bad Keith. You don’t love this stranger._

So he pushes the thoughts out of his mind and revels in this perfect bliss, this perfect slice of eternity where they will always be here. And it feels like an eternity has passed when he finally lets himself go and spills over. He feels like _he_ is spilling over, every inch of his being and his soul flooding out of his body to go dance in the stars and float in space, and he’s floating as if he’s not on Earth anymore.  

They’re lying together, side by side, both covered in sweat and other fluids Keith doesn’t want to think about right now, and Lance puts his arm around him affectionately as if they are boyfriends.

“Thank you,” Keith says. He immediately curses himself.

Lance snorts. “You’re welcome.” His gaze flits to the cigarette packet on the bedside table but he clearly remembers that Keith doesn’t like it because he contents himself with kissing Keith’s forehead and murmuring something Keith doesn’t hear.

Just before he drifts into sleep, he thinks of the fact that he is still in a mafia boss’s apartment, but he trusts him too much now to worry about that and his last thought is of how dangerous this new trust is.

-

When Keith wakes Lance isn’t in bed anymore. He glances at the clock on the wall. It reads 6:00 and he’s surprised that he slept through an entire night even though he went to sleep in the early afternoon yesterday. It’s more than twelve hours of sleep and he thinks that he must have been really tired to sleep so much.

Lance appears at the doorway barely a minute later. “Morning, pretty boy.”

For once, Keith doesn’t complain about the nickname. He yawns and sits upright, then winces.

Lance laughs and sits next to him on the bed. “Are you feeling sore?”

“Yeah,” Keith admits.

He smiles and leans over to brush a stray strand of hair off Keith’s forehead. “It’ll pass. Do you want breakfast?”

“Okay.” Lance gets up and takes Keith’s hand in his to lead him to the kitchen, and Keith’s cheeks are dusted with pink. The kitchen is clean and tidy with a tiny table and two chairs squished into the corner. Lance motions for Keith to sit down while he opens the refrigerator and peers inside. He turns back to Keith with a sheepish smile.

“I was supposed to go to the grocery yesterday but I forgot, so I don’t have anything. Maybe we can go eat outside? There’s this place nearby.”

Keith grins. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“Maybe,” Lance says.

“In that case, my answer is maybe,” Keith quips.

Lance sighs. “Do you want to go on a date with me?”

Keith’s face breaks into a smile. “Yeah.”

Ten minutes later, they are in the coffeeshop downstairs and they order a number of assorted pastries. Neither of them are speaking and Keith looks out the window. A white van is parked by the sidewalk.

“You’re not eating,” Lance says.

“I’m not that hungry,” Keith lies, not wanting to admit that he’s too nervous to eat. As cliché as it sounds, there are butterflies in his stomach.

Lance pushes the basket towards him. “You need the nutrition.”

“You’re acting like my mom.”

He shrugs and reaches over to take a roll from the basket, taking a small bite out of it and saying, “If I don’t, who will?”

“I don’t know… maybe my actual mom?”

Lance laughs at that and Keith’s too busy with the fact that his heart just exploded to come up with another remark. He’s almost too distracted to notice when Lance says, “You always surprise me.”

“You can’t be surprised by someone you’ve only known for one day,” Keith says. “You don’t know enough about me to be surprised.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “What do you think this date is for, genius?”

He is about to reply when Lance’s phone rings, the sound piercing through the ambiance of the café. A man behind them turns around to glare at Lance as he answers the phone and presses it against his ear. With each passing second the person on the other end talks, Lance pales further and when he finally ends the call he shoves it into his pocket and stands up.

“I’m really sorry,” Lance says, grimacing and not meeting Keith’s eyes, “I have to go into work.”

Keith isn’t that surprised but he can’t help but feel disappointed. “That’s fine.”

Lance leans over the table to plant a quick kiss on Keith’s cheek. “See you. Here’s the money for the food, get what you want.” He takes his wallet out of his pocket and drops it on the table, then rushes out the door, already dialing another number on his phone.

The waitress is looking at Keith in pity and he looks away, not wanting her pity. She is looking at him as if his boyfriend just ditched him and he has to remind himself that Lance isn’t his boyfriend. Lance isn’t his anything.  

He doesn’t feel like eating anymore so he pays for the food and leaves. He still has Lance’s wallet and the wallet has several hundred dollar bills in it so he decides to return it that evening, if he sees Lance at the bar again. When he goes outside the café, he looks around to determine where he is. He’s in a neighborhood he knows fairly well and he should be able to get home from here, so he begins walking in the direction he thinks his home is in.

As he walks, he thinks about how weird it is that Lance has so much money but he still lives in an old run-down flat. It must be something about anonymity and staying below the radar because if Lance has enough money that he can afford to leave his entire wallet to Keith, he must be pretty damn rich. Keith chastises himself immediately. He shouldn’t be thinking about how much money Lance has. He doesn’t care anyway.

It takes him more than almost two hours to get home and when he does, he doesn’t bother going inside the building before turning onto the street that leads to the bar. It’s still morning but he needs to get his motorcycle, so he makes his aching feet step forward. It takes him another half-hour to get to the bar and by that time he’s exhausted.

He knew it wasn’t healthy to drink so much, but he had a high tolerance for alcohol and by now he was hungry, so he went inside the bar, telling himself he would only have one drink and a plate of fries.

Allura’s there again, and she gives him a concerned look as he walks in. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You didn’t come here last evening,” she says. “Usually you’re always here.”

Keith must be doing something wrong if the bartender gets concerned when he doesn’t show up. But Allura isn’t just a bartender, she’s his friend, and she _did_ see him going out with Lance.

When he doesn’t reply, she frowns. “Did he try anything?”

Keith clears his throat and shifts in his chair, looking over at the far end of the room to avoid her burning stare.

She gasps. “Oh! Keith, you didn’t- tell me you didn’t!”

He looks down at the ground and says, “I’d like a whisky.”

“Keith!” she almost screeches it, slamming her hands on the counter. “I can’t believe you fucked a mafia boss!”

“Don’t say it so loudly,” Keith hisses.

She calms down a little but she looks like someone who just found out – well, she looks like someone who just found out that their friend fucked a mafia boss. “Why the hell would you fuck him?”

“Stop saying that,” Keith says. “I’m an adult. I can sleep with someone if I want to.”

“A mafia boss, Keith!”

“It was a one time thing!”

Allura shakes her head. “Was he any good?”

“Well…” Keith pauses, trying to think of what he could say that wouldn’t be too vulgar. “He’s. Um. Really good.”

Now it’s Allura’s turn to look skeptical. “Good?”

Keith throws his hands in the air. “He was great, okay! Like some fucking sex god!”

Allura freezes and Keith’s about to tell her it was her fault for asking when he hears footsteps behind him and spins around to see Lance fucking McClain standing there.

Keith’s cheeks turn bright red and Allura ducks below the counter, desperately holding back laughter.

“Uh, that’s- uh, flattering.” Lance coughs, his face also red.

Allura can’t hold it back anymore and she howls with laughter before plastering her hand to her mouth and running into the kitchen, the door slamming shut behind her.

Keith shoots a glare at the closed door and stammers, “What are you doing here?”

“It was a short job,” Lance says. “They just needed me to check on something. I didn’t know where you lived and I thought you might be here.”

“Oh, yeah.” Keith takes Lance’s wallet out of his pocket and holds it out to him.

Lance is taken aback. “I wasn’t looking for the wallet.”

“What were you looking for?” Keith asks, his heart pounding in his chest.

Lance sighs. “You’re so dense.”

He crosses the room with a fiery, determined look in his eyes, and he kisses Keith.

Keith makes a soft sound of surprise and his hands slide to Lance’s waist to bring him closer as he feels the rush of dizziness and the surging tide of warmth that he had the first time he kissed Lance.

But this time something is off and he pushes Lance away.

Hurt flashes across Lance’s face and Keith realizes why something feels off. Lance tastes strongly of bitter metal and his hair is soaking wet. Some of the liquid dripped onto Keith’s face in the kiss. He touches his face and when he brings his fingers away, they are covered in blood.

Keith stares at Lance. Now that he’s looking at him properly he can see that Lance has a jacket carefully buttoned over his shirt, but a dark red stain was spreading to the jacket. His lip is cut and still bleeding, and Keith can taste the blood on his own lips.

Lance stares back at him like someone caught at a murder scene. His eyes are wide and pleading as if he’s begging Keith to understand.

Slowly, Keith says, “Why did you come here directly afterwards?”

“I wasn’t thinking.” His voice is the hot, humid air when a storm is about to arrive.

“That’s obvious.” Keith takes a deep breath. They can’t ignore this anymore. “We should stop pretending.”

“We can’t.” Lance looks around them as if he’s expecting someone else to come in. But there’s no one else around. “I have to.”

“In that case, we can’t do this.”

Lance stills. He looks like he’s about to argue with Keith, but instead his expression dulls and he says, “I think that’s best.”

And Keith watches as he walks out the door and out of his life.

-

Well, Keith was wrong. Lance wasn’t out of his life yet, because he sees him at the bar again the next evening.

The bartender tonight isn’t Allura. It’s a man he doesn’t recognize; he’s probably new. He leans across the counter and says, “You’re always here.”

“Yeah,” Keith says.

“You must be either broken hearted or depressed.”

Keith doesn’t reply to that.

“Man, you must have a fucked up liver,” the bartender remarks.

“I guess.”

When he doesn’t say anything else, the bartender pouts. He’s younger than Keith, maybe twenty-years old. “Well, can I interest you in anything?” he winks. “Other than myself.”

Keith feels a hand on his shoulder and he looks up to see Lance standing there, his mouth set in a hard line. He’s about to say something but Lance speaks first, his voice cold and harsh.

“He has a boyfriend. I’d recommend that you back off, or you’ll regret it.”

The bartender slinks back, stuttering out an apology, and goes to tend to another customer.

Lance still looks angry and it would have been terrifying if it were directed at him. He feels bad for the poor bartender. He glares at Lance. “What’s that about?”

“I… don’t know,” Lance says.

He doesn’t look apologetic at all. Keith feels anger burn up inside him. “You had no right to do that.”

Lance stays silent but his chin is turned up and he has his arms crossed.

“I’m not yours, Lance.”

Lance doesn’t react for a moment, then gives a mirthless laugh. He doesn’t say anything and turns away, but for the rest of the night Keith can feel Lance’s eyes on him.

He drinks much more than he intended to, at least three whiskies. But he still doesn’t feel drunk and he wonders how badly he’s messed up his body if he can withstand drinking three whiskies so quickly. He feels nothing but a sour taste on his tongue and he stands up. He’s had enough for tonight.

It’s when he walks outside that the effect of all that alcohol hits him and he walks straight into a wall that doesn’t seem to have been there before. Though it’s ridiculous, he expects Lance to be there when he turns around. Sure enough, Lance is there.

He has a steady poker-face when he says, “You can’t drive home like that.”

Keith thinks he can drive, but if he gets in an accident with a car he could harm some innocent person, so he says, “I think you’re right.” The words come out in an illegible slur and he tries to say them properly, but nothing comes out except a quiet groan. His head hurts and he doesn’t know if it was from all that whisky or from the heat inside the bar.

And it’s cold outside but Lance’s arms are around him and he doesn’t feel cold anymore. He knows he should push him away but his body refuses to comply so he closes his eyes and lets Lance pick him up bridal-style. Keith doesn’t know where he’s being carried; he hears the sound of an engine so they must be in a car. He doesn’t remember being put down.

Lance’s voice is carefully quiet. “Should I take you to your house?”

“No,” Keith says.

“Then where? A friend’s place?”

“You.” The rest of the sentence doesn’t come out so Keith tries again. “Stay with you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Lance says, barely audible.

“I do.”

Lance sighs. “You’re going to be angry tomorrow.”

Keith doesn’t say anything after that, and he thinks he falls asleep but he isn’t sure because he’s in a hazy state where being awake and being asleep is the same thing.

But he must have fallen asleep, because he wakes up what seems like five minutes later.

At first, he doesn’t know where he is, looking around in confusion. Then he sees Lance standing at the doorway, his hand on the doorknob and a glass in his hand, and he remembers.

“Were you… watching me sleep?”

Lance’s face turns pink instantly, the color spreading down to his neck. “No.”

Keith sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. “That’s really creepy.”  

“I’m not having this argument with you.” He holds up the glass of water. “I thought you might be thirsty.”

“Thanks,” Keith says as Lance crossed the room to hand him the glass. Their fingers brush and he tenses as Lance backs away like it burned him. “Thank you.”

“It’s just water.” Lance shrugs.

“Not for the water. Thanks for looking after me.”

“I didn’t do anything. I just-”

“Will you shut up and accept it?” Keith raises his voice and it’s too loud for this small room but he doesn’t care. He stands up but doesn’t move any closer. “You talk way too much.”

“Thanks, I pride myself on that.”

“You’re still talking!”

Lance scoffs. “Sorry, your highness. I didn’t realize you can tell me what to do.”            

“I swear if you keep talking I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Lance interrupts, his voice a cross between dangerous and mocking. “You’ll do what?”

Keith stares back at him unflinchingly. “I’ll make you.”

Lance stretches his arms above his head and whispers, “Then make me.”

When Keith storms across the room he doesn’t know if he wants to punch him or kiss him, but he knots his fists in Lance’s shirt and yanks him into a kiss. Just as Lance gasps and melts into him, he lets go of him and steps away.

“That’s the last time,” Keith says, though his heart is hammering in his chest and his body is screaming at him to ask Lance to kiss him just one more time.

It takes a few seconds for Lance to say, “Fine. I’ll take you home.”

“I’ll walk.”

“How far away do you live?”

“Close enough,” Keith says.

Lance comes with him to the door and waits as Keith gets his shoes on.

Keith hesitates, and leans in to kiss Lance’s cheek. “Okay, _that’s_ the last time.”

Lance cracks a smile and waves as Keith leaves and gets in the elevator to go downstairs.

This time, he knows for sure that he will see Lance again.

-

The next night at the bar, he tells himself he won’t drink anymore. He’s been drinking too much for months and it’s time for him to take a break. _Just for a week_ , he thinks. But he likes this bar and he feels comfortable here so he sits down at a table in the corner.

The air is hot and heavy. This isn’t the type of bar where he would be able to see couples dancing everywhere and grinding on each other like there’s no one else around. This is the type of bar to which sad, pathetic alcoholics go to drown their sorrows after their partners left them or after they lose their jobs. There’s music, but it’s slow jazz music from the 40s or the 50s and no one is dancing. The people nearby always give Keith sad, pitying looks, as if they feel bad for him because he’s only twenty-five and he’s hanging out at a place like this.

He doesn’t care about what people think. Yes, it’s true that he has nothing better to do, but that’s his problem, not theirs. And he doesn’t see it as a problem anyway. He’s happy like this.

 Though he tells himself he isn’t searching for Lance, his eyes scan the surroundings and he freezes each time he sees someone with Lance’s haircut or someone wearing the leather jacket Keith had seen him wearing a few times.

He hears a familiar voice. “Have you missed me?”

Lance sits down beside Keith, his usual smirk on his face.

“Very much,” Keith says dryly. “I just can’t live without you.”

“I already knew that.”

“Shut up.”

“You were the one who said it, pretty boy.”

If Keith disliked the nickname before he hates it now. But he sort of likes it, too. “Don’t call me that.”

“What’re you going to do, pretty boy?” Lance grins. “Kiss me again?”

“Since you asked so nicely.” And though Keith knows it’s a terrible idea, he kisses him. It’s brief and they break apart barely a second later.

“Let me guess.” Lance gives him an amused look. “This is the last time?”

“Maybe,” Keith says.

“Or maybe not,” Lance offers. “I think… remember what you said about pretending?”

Keith nods uncertainly, not knowing where this is going.

“We don’t need to pretend about this.” Lance gestures between them. “About us.”

“And the rest?” Keith asks.

Lance sighs and looks away at the window. The view outside is dusty grey and dull brown like a bad painting that someone dropped in the mud.

Keith taps his fingers on the table as he waits.

Finally, Lance speaks. “We should go somewhere more private.”

“Nobody can hear us,” Keith says. Everyone around them was distracted, chattering loudly to people beside them or listening to the music, and the tiny corner they were sitting in was private enough.

“Fine.” Lance lowers his voice. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

Lance doesn’t say anything.

“Oh.” Keith understands. “It’s a long story.”

He leans closer and his voice is harder. “I need to know.”

“I didn’t know,” Keith confesses.

Lance blinks. Time seems to freeze for a moment. “You… you didn’t know?”

“I suspected it,” Keith says hastily before Lance assumes that he was the one that gave himself away. “A lot of people do. I only knew for certain when you…” he trails off, looking at Lance meaningfully.

“I wasn’t thinking that day,” Lance says. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“You shouldn’t have come,” Keith agrees, “but you did and you can’t undo that.”

“So.” Lance takes a deep breath. “You know about it.”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“Good. Can you—” he pauses, re-thinking what he’s going to say. “If we’re going to do this, we need some rules.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “And by ‘this’, you mean…”

“You know what I mean.” Keith doesn’t refute that so Lance continues. “First rule. I can’t tell you about anything to do with my job.”

“Fine with me.”

“That’s all I can think of right now, actually. Have any other ideas?”

Keith thinks for a moment. “Not really.”

“That’s good. In that case—” Lance winks at him. “How about a real date this time, cutie?”

“That nickname is even worse,” Keith informs, looking down at the ground to hide his blush. “But alright. I’d like that.”

-

Lance arrives at Keith’s apartment to pick him up around seven. Keith comes downstairs as soon as Lance calls him and gets in the passenger side. He hopes he isn’t too underdressed – he figured Lance wouldn’t take him somewhere fancy without telling him to wear something nice, so he wore his usual jeans and his favorite red crop jacket.

Lance smiles at him and starts the car. As they drive onto the main road, he starts up a conversation about an A-lister celebrity he had worked for recently who was surprisingly rude and starts telling Keith a funny story about someone who threw a handbag with a poodle in it at him, and Keith is laughing as the story gets wilder with each sentence.

Then Lance almost runs the red light because he’s looking over at him and he slams on the brakes, stopping just before he passes the lights.  

“Hey, eyes on the road,” Keith says though his heart flutters at the thought that he is distracting Lance.

“I can’t help it.” Lance’s gaze is fond and smitten, like he’s looking at his boyfriend of several years rather than a guy he slept with once and went on half-a-date with. Keith has to look away because he doesn’t know how to react to that level of devotion so soon.

“Where are we going?” Keith is still looking out of the window and he doesn’t know if Lance is still looking at him like that.

“There’s a new art museum. I was thinking of going there – but if you don’t want to, that’s perfectly fine. What you want is important, I already-”

“Lance.” Keith cuts him off, looking back at him. Now Lance is staring at the road, his fingers clutching the steering wheel tightly. “Why are you so nervous?”

“Isn’t it normal to be nervous on a date?”

“Not when you were so confident before.”

“I guess I- it didn’t seem real before. I didn’t think you would say yes.”

Keith stiffens. “You mean you didn’t really want to go out with me?”

“No!” Lance turns his whole body away from the steering wheel to look at Keith, his eyes wide and earnest. “That’s not what I meant! I meant that I didn’t think I had a chance with someone like you.”

At that, Keith laughs. Lance McClain not having a chance with him?! The thought is so absurd that it’s comical. “Someone like me? Lance, _I’m_ the one who’s lucky that someone like you likes me.”

“Are you serious?”

“Are you?”

Lance throws his arms in the air before remembering he’s driving and quickly grabbing the steering wheel again. “Of course I am! You really have no idea how amazing you are, do you?”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Stop saying that!”

“It’s true!”

“Yeah, but-”

“The road!” Keith half-yells when Lance takes his hands off the wheel again, lunging across the car to grab the handbrake and push it forwards just as a lorry cuts across them. The car screeches to a halt instantly and a chorus of angry beeps start up from the car behind them. If they had stopped a second later they would have driven straight into the lorry. “If you’re not going to watch the fucking road, stop the car and let me out!”

“I’ll be careful,” Lance mutters. “Besides, it was the lorry’s fault.”

“But we could have crashed into it anyway because you weren’t paying attention!”

“Fine, sorry! How much do you want me to apologize?”

“You’re not apologizing enough! I thought you were supposed to be responsible.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “And why would you think that?”

Keith glares at him and though he knows it’s dangerous, he can’t stop himself from saying, “You know why. Don’t make me say it.”

Lance freezes. His fingers are turning white from how hard he’s squeezing the steering wheel and he remains silent, watching the road in front of them. And if Keith thought it was bad when Lance was looking at him like he was in love with him, the tension now filling the car is a hundred times worse.

Finally, Lance speaks. “I don’t think we can ignore it anymore.”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees. “We can’t.” He takes a deep breath. “Are you really the boss?”

There’s a moment of silence before Lance answers, “No.”

That isn’t the answer Keith was expecting. He’s watched countless videos on YouTube theorizing that Lance McClain is the boss of a large branch of the American Mafia and he’s read several articles explaining why Lance McClain is much more than the “simple celebrity photographer he claims to be”. So finding out it isn’t real…

“Not exactly,” Lance amends and Keith is confused all over again. “I’m more like… like a façade. Kind of. They set me up to look like I’m the boss so I can take the fall for them when they get caught. I’m not the real boss.”

Wow. Keith has no idea what to say to that.

“Keith? Please say something.”

Keith takes another deep breath but his lungs don’t want to take it in, squeezing themselves closed. He forces the air into his system and it takes more effort than he expected it would.

“Say something.”

“Why did you do it?” Keith settles on asking.

“Do what?”

“Why did you join them?”

“Oh.” Lance lets a breath out through his teeth. “I- I don’t want to bore you. This is technically still a date.”

Keith gives him a dry look. “A date in which you almost got us into a car accident and I accused you of being a mafia boss. Nothing about this follows normal date etiquette.”

“I don’t want to dump my entire backstory on you.”

“Get on with it, Lance.”

Lance rolls his eyes but he says, “I joined them before I got my job in photography. My dad was an associate, so he hooked me up with this guy he knew who got me into it and they decided I wasn’t trustworthy enough to get a real position. So they decided to use me as a decoy, basically. And they told me how to behave and framed me for some stuff so people would suspect I was the Don. To answer your question, I did it for the money. I have three siblings, and there’s my mom, and my grandma, and my extended family – you get the idea.”

“That’s interesting,” Keith says. “Can’t you leave?”

Lance winces as if he’s imagining what would happen if he left. “They’d probably kill me because I know too much.”

“So you’re stuck.”

“Yes.”

“That’s not good.”

“Yes.”

Keith sighs. “I’m the worst date ever. It’s our first date and so far I’ve spent half the time yelling at you and the rest of the time forcing you to-”

Lance interrupts him with, “No, I’m a terrible date. I’ve spent the whole time talking about myself.”

“No, you haven’t!”

“Let’s not argue anymore,” Lance says wearily.

They arrive at the art museum five minutes later and, ignoring Keith’s protests, Lance pays for both of their entry tickets. He guides Keith around the museum, pointing out art pieces done by people he knows, and he alternates between explaining the meaning he personally finds in the painting and the meaning the artist drunkenly explained to him at 2 am in the morning. Somehow, he manages to make explaining the meaning behind a pineapple wearing sunglasses interesting and, instead of laughing at him, he encourages Keith’s attempts to interpret the art in his own way.

Keith doesn’t know how big the museum is but right now he hopes it goes on forever because he doesn’t want this to end. Being with Lance here isn’t like what it was like in the car; it’s more like the easy connection they had shared when they talked at the bar and at Lance’s house. In the end, they spend hours at the museum, looping around to previous exhibits as an excuse to stay together longer, and Keith has never felt this connected to anyone. Every single word Lance says, every action he does, complements Keith perfectly and even the way he moves is entrancing. He moves gracefully, like he plans each movement carefully before he does it, but at the same time it’s effortless and Keith has no idea how he does it.

When they’ve been at the museum for more than five hours, Lance finally says, “I think it’s time for us to admit that we’ve been going in circles for the past three hours.”

Keith smiles and says, “I could go for another circle.”

“I could go for a coffee,” Lance offers instead, his lips curving into a matching smile.

So Keith takes the initiative to move closer and takes his hand, and Lance squeezes it gently as they walk back to the car.

And when they’re sitting across the table from each other at an old café hidden in a corner of the street Keith’s never seen before that seems to belong to them, Lance says, “I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

“Me too,” Keith says, and he wonders if this is what love is.

-

It’s midnight when he’s woken up by the ringing of his phone. He briefly considers throwing the phone out of the window, but when he reaches over to the bedside table to pick it up he sees that it’s Lance.

His heart stops. He clicks the small green button and waits with trembling hands for Lance to say something.

Lance speaks almost instantly, his voice raspy and thick. “ _Uh, can you—"_ he coughs wetly, and Keith desperately hopes it isn’t blood—" _I’m at your apartment, but I-”_ he coughs again, but he doesn’t stop coughing for several seconds and it sounds like he’s about to die.

“What do you mean, at my apartment?” Keith asks. “Lance, _what did you do_?”

 _“Please let me in,”_ Lance says.

“I’m unlocking it now.” Keith leaps out of bed and runs to the entrance door to press the buzzer. Each minute he waits for Lance to show up feels like forever, and finally the elevator arrives at his floor and Lance stumbles out.

Keith hopes this is all a bad nightmare. Feeling faint, he steps backwards to lean against the door. “Am I… am I awake?”

Lance’s shirt is torn and ripped, with blood stains all over it. His pants are in a similar state, and so is his skin. He’s covered in bruises, scrapes, and red friction burns. But what Keith can’t tear his eyes away from is the large wound on his chest. The size of it is pretty small but it is clearly deep, and though he is pressing a bundle of fabric into it to stop the bleeding, blood is spreading outwards from it, soaking into his clothes and dripping on the floor.

“Unfortunately,” Lance says.

Then he collapses on the ground.

-

Keith has no idea how he manages to dial the number for the ambulance and explain, as vaguely as he can, what happened, but he does it and the ambulance arrives after ten minutes. Keith spends the ten minutes on the floor, trying his best to stop the bleeding however he can and begging Lance to wake up. He doesn’t.

When the ambulance arrives, the EMT rolls Lance onto a clean, white stretcher that is soon stained red. The ambulance ride to the hospital is a blur for Keith. He doesn’t know if he said anything to Lance or to the EMT but it doesn’t matter. They arrive at the hospital, and the EMT takes Lance inside on a stretcher while a nurse sits Keith down and offers him some water. Keith doesn’t think he can drink anything, so he rejects the offer. The nurse nods and asks him what happened. Keith isn’t sure what happened, but he knows it’s something to do with the mafia so he makes up a story about Lance trying to put up a wall in their attic and a roof beam falling on him.

Then she asks him even _more_ questions and it feels like an interrogation, but Keith answers the questions as well as he can. She goes to get a form for him to fill out, and while he fills it out, she goes to check on Lance. Keith doesn’t know where Lance is.

In fact, Keith doesn’t even know where he is. He figures out that he’s in a waiting room, but that’s all he can gather. The waiting room is full of people, and Keith takes a moment to be grateful that they admitted Lance without any wait. There are adults, children, teenagers, and every few minutes one of them gets called in for their treatment. Across the room, a young boy starts coughing. He covers his mouth with a tissue, and when the coughing fit passes, the tissue is stained with blood. Keith feels a pang of sympathy for him.

When the nurse comes back, she says, “They’re taking him into emergency surgery.”

Keith looks at her blankly.

“Are you his closest of kin?” she asks.

“We’re not related.”

“Friends?”

“It’s complicated,” Keith says. Since their date at the museum three weeks ago, they’ve been on many more dates but they’re not officially dating yet. _Are we? How does dating even work?_

“We might need to contact his family.”

“They’re not available.” Though he doesn’t want to even consider it, he can’t help but ask, “Is he going to die?”

The nurse shakes her head and she looks confident enough that Keith worries she’s lying to him. “No. Don’t worry, he will be alright.” She waits for a second to see if Keith will reply, then says, “If you need anything, just ask,” before walking away.

He’s still hoping this is a bad nightmare. He doesn’t know how many hours pass before a different nurse comes to talk to him. She has bottle blond hair, styled into a tight bun, and bright red lipstick.

Keith thinks he might throw up. His stomach is churning, and his skin is cold and clammy.  

“I’m sorry,” the nurse says finally.

Keith wants to rip down the posters from the wall, tear the chairs out of their places, _destroy something,_ but he doesn’t. Instead, he stays still.

“They did what they could,” she says. “He’s unresponsive.” She must see Keith’s expression change, so she quickly adds, “He’s alive, but he’s in the ICU.”

When Keith speaks, his mouth is dry. “Can I see him?”

She grimaces. “The doctor recommends that he doesn’t have any visitors until his condition is stable. You can wait in the waiting room there, if you like.”

She motions for Keith to follow her so he does. They walk down several long corridors and Keith wonders what hospital they’re in, because it’s pretty damn big for the area he lives in. They pass by at least six or seven different wards and go up two different elevators before they reach the ICU. They go down yet another corridor inside the ICU until they arrive at the waiting room of the ward.

The ICU is much noisier than the rest of the hospital; Keith can hear alarms, beeping, and faint crying coming from a far corner of it. There is a clerk standing there with a weary look on his face.

The blonde nurse points at the seats. “You can wait there. We’ll tell you when you can go see him.”

“How long?” Keith asks.

“A while,” she says simply. She doesn’t wait any longer before rushing away.

The clock’s hands refuse to move, stubbornly staying in place as Keith stares at them, willing time to pass. ‘A while’ ends up being four hours. He falls asleep at some point and when he wakes, his neck hurts from the uncomfortable position. Four hours pass, and even more hours pass until Keith loses track of time and stops counting. Time crawls along, inch by inch, until _finally_ the blonde nurse returns. He stands up immediately.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kogane,” she says, and Keith questions how she knows his name when he remembers he wrote his name on the form. “Your partner is stable. You can visit him if you like, but he isn’t awake yet.”

She leads him to Lance’s room. The room is large, as hospital rooms go, but the bed in it and the several machines don’t leave a lot of empty space. There’s a beeping heart monitor and a few other screens with readings Keith doesn’t understand. Lance is lying in the bed, his eyes closed. There is a blanket thrown over him and he’s hooked up to an IV and a separate tube.

There’s another nurse standing in the corner of the room. He’s slightly taller than Keith and is wearing a surgical mask that covers more than half his face, with his ginger hair tied back neatly. He has a name tag attached to his shirt that reads, _Bryce._

The blonde nurse says, “I’ll bring you a chair,” and leaves the room. She comes back a minute later with a cheap plastic chair that she places in the corner of the room.

When she leaves, he ignores the chair and steps closer so he’s standing next to the bed. Though Lance usually looks peaceful when he sleeps, now he looks like he is in pain. His fingers twitch and Keith automatically reaches out to take his hand. Lance’s hand is cold, but Keith can feel his pulse. He feels it faintly, tiny beats against his fingers.

Bryce is still standing there, watching them with mild interest.

“Are you going to be here the whole time?” Keith asks. He doesn’t want to ask him to leave in case it seems rude.

“Yep,” Bryce says, his expression turning sympathetic. “Sorry about that. Just pretend I’m not here.”

Well, it makes sense that a nurse needs to be on watch while a patient is in the ICU. Some part of Keith is pleased with the fact that there is a nurse constantly with Lance because it means they are taking good care of him, but it’s a little uncomfortable anyway.

“Do you know when he’ll wake up?”

“Within the hour,” Bryce answers.

As if on cue, Lance stirs. A quiet groan passes his lips and he clutches Keith’s hand tighter, hard enough that he winces.

“Lance,” Keith whispers.

 Slowly, Lance’s eyes flutter open. He coughs and rubs his eyes, staring at the drips connected to his arms in confusion. “What…”

In movies, the main character always rips the drips out of his arms and runs out of the hospital room, but Keith is thankful that doesn’t happen in real life because he doesn’t think he’d be able to deal with it if Lance does that.

Lance falters. “I…” he trails off and his eyelids shut. He opens his eyes a second later, and it’s obvious that he’s still groggy. “I didn’t-” he stops talking again. In the end, he settles on saying, “I don’t remember much.”

Keith’s never been the doting, caring partner, and he’s not going to start now. The frustration and terror of the past few hours hits him and he feels a surge of anger. “In that case, you better tell me what you do fucking remember because I’ve never been so fucking scared in my life, and I swear I’ll-”

“Sir,” Bryce hastily cuts in, “I wouldn’t talk like that if I were you. The patient is still recovering.”

Keith glares at him. “He’ll deal with it.”

“Really,” Lance says. He coughs. “I deserve it.”

Bryce looks uncertain, but he doesn’t protest any further. Keith turns back to Lance. “Explain. Now.”

“Not now,” Lance says pointedly.

Keith sighs and looks at Bryce. “There’s no chance at all we could have some privacy?”

Bryce shrugs. “Not possible.”

“Alright. Look, Lance—” Keith takes a deep breath. “I know I said I was willing to try for this relationship, even with- uh, the _thing,_ but this is too much. I can’t live in fear that this will happen again. I’m not a person that’s okay with staying at home, waiting for you, holding my breath and hoping you come back with all your limbs intact. I love you, and I’d do anything for you, but I can’t be that person.”

The only sound in the room is the soft beeping on the heart monitor and the _drip drip drip_ of the IV.

Lance blinks. “Did you just… say that you love me?”

Fuck. Keith didn’t mean to say that. And the worst part is that he knows it’s true. Keith Kogane is in love with a guy he’s only been with for about a month and it’s fucking _pathetic._

“Keith.”

If Keith speaks now, he’ll make it worse.  

“Keith. Please say something.”

Nothing.

“Say something.”

Bryce must be judging them right now.

Lance furrows his eyebrows and his lips turn down. The beeping of the heart monitor speeds up. “Keith Kogane, I swear to God, if you don’t answer-”

“You should get some more sleep,” Keith says, turning to leave the room.  

As he walks out of the door, he hears Lance call, “Keith, don’t – Bryce, can you-” Then the door slams shut and Lance’s voice is cut off. Keith makes his way back to the waiting room but he doesn’t sit down, instead smashing his fists against the wall and savoring the pain shooting through his knuckles. _Idiot,_ he thinks. _I’m an idiot._

He knows there are people who fall in love after a month. Even less, sometimes. He knows emotions are fleeting and hard to grasp, and he knows it’s impossible to say how long it takes to love someone. He knows anything is possible, and though it’s uncommon there are people who get engaged within their first month of dating. _But that’s not me._

As mortified as he is, Keith knows if doesn’t go back there and explain himself he’s going to lose Lance, so he takes another deep breath and walks back to the room. He hesitates before knocking on the door and pulling it open.

Lance looks utterly distraught, but his expression clears when he sees Keith before rapidly turning sour. “Oh, now you show up.”

“It’s barely been a minute.”

“The longest fucking minute of my life.”

“I’m sorry, Lance,” Keith says, fixing his gaze on the clock on the wall so he doesn’t have to make eye contact and make explaining this even harder for himself. “I don’t-”

“I don’t need a speech,” Lance interrupts, trying to sit up. A harsh exhale slips through his teeth as he manages to pull himself upright, and he inhales deeply before continuing. “I just want to know if it’s real.”

“If what’s real?”

“What do you think, genius?”

Keith forces himself to meet Lance’s eyes, but when he looks at him he can’t look away. Lance’s skin is covered in bruises – yellow, purple, green – and he’s wearing an ugly, scratchy hospital gown. Even so, he’s dazzling and Keith stares at him until Lance clears his throat.

“What would you say if it was true?” Keith asks tentatively.

Lance’s face softens and his voice is quiet, like falling snow. “Tell me and we’ll find out.”

“Lance, I…” Keith swallows hard. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

A smile lights up Lance’s face and it’s like looking directly into the sun. And Keith can’t look away. He’s spellbound, and he thinks that if he looks away now everything around them will disappear and he’ll find out that he’s still in the waiting room, waiting for Lance to wake up.

“Kiss me?” Lance says softly. It’s almost a question.

Bryce is definitely judging them right now, but Keith doesn’t care and he crosses the hospital room in a single stride to lean down and place a light kiss on Lance’s lips.

“That’s it?” Lance complains. “I nearly die and all I get is-”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Keith reminds him, “and Bryce is still here.”

Bryce looks at them sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to keep apologizing,” Lance says with a roll of his eyes. “I would probably die if you weren’t here.”

“Some advice: it would be more romantic if you told that to him instead of me,” Bryce replies, jerking his head toward Keith, and Lance bursts into laughter.

“I’m still waiting,” Keith says.

“Oh, yeah.” Lance looks back at Keith and his eyes are shining. “I- I love you, too. I know this is kind of fast, but whatever - Keith, I think you’re my fucking soulmate.”

“You barely know me,” Keith teases, and they both laugh because there’s _nothing_ they haven’t talked about during their midnight talks and their coffee dates and their trips to hidden quarries with sparkling seas that only they know about. Lance _knows_ him, more than anyone else.

“I know enough about you to know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Lance says. His eyes widen. “Wait, fuck.”

The beeping speeds up even more and Bryce holds up a hand. “I hate to interrupt the moment, but your heart shouldn’t be over-exerted.

Lance winces and clutches at his chest. “I feel that.” 

He’s momentarily distracted, but then he turns his attention to Keith again. “I always do this.”

“Do what?”

“I always say something way too honest,” Lance says, “and it freaks the other person out.”

“Are you joking?” Keith asks. “ _I_ always do that.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I literally just told you I loved you.”

Lance shrugs. “Shit happens.”

“Lance. We have to talk about this.”

Lance looks down at his lap, not wanting to reply. Keith doesn’t know what to think. He had been thinking that he was the one moving too fast, but after hearing Lance say he wanted to spend the rest of his life with him, he wasn’t so sure.

“We’re both moving pretty damn fast,” Keith says, and he doesn’t realize he said it aloud until Lance snorts.

“I’m sorry,” Lance says. “I guess I put a lot of pressure on you.”

“We’ve always moved too fast,” Keith continues, ignoring him. “So there’s no reason to slow down now.”

A brilliant, thrilled smile spreads across Lance’s face. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Keith kisses him again, feather-soft. “If you want to.”

“If I want to?” Lance echoes, shaking his head in disbelief. He loops his arms around Keith’s neck and tugs him into a proper kiss. His heartrate skyrockets so he pulls away a second later, coughing and clutching at his chest. “Fuck.”

Bryce looks like he’s biting back an _I told you so._ “Take a moment to calm down. I _really_ wouldn’t recommend kissing yet.”

They both laugh, and Keith’s own heartbeat is just as fast as Lance’s.

-

“So,” Lance says. It’s been a month since he was released from the hospital, and they’re now officially dating. Though they’re not exactly living together, Lance spends most of his time over at Keith’s house so he might as well bring over his clothes and call it official. “I never did tell you why I got stabbed.”

Keith had been watching the TV, not really listening to Lance, but he turns to look at him. Lance sits next to him on the couch, careful not to knock the mug of coffee Keith’s holding out of his hand. “Tell me, then.”

“I tried to leave.”

Keith drops the mug. It shatters on the ground and the brown liquid stains the ceramic, lapping at the edges of the rug.

Lance jumps off his seat and grabs a bunch of tissues, pushing the rug away so it doesn’t get coffee on it. “What the fuck-”

“Why the fuck would you try to leave? Who the actual _fuck_ tries to leave the mafia!”

“I did it for you, asshole,” Lance yells, throwing the tissues down on the ground. “I didn’t get stabbed so you could insult me.”

“…for me?”

Lance starts scrubbing at the spilt coffee. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

Lance takes another handful of tissues and cleans up the rest of the coffee. He leaves the tissues on the ground so Keith takes the tissues to the kitchen and throws them in the trashcan. When he returns to the living room, Lance is sitting on the couch again, so Keith sits next to him.

“You left the mafia for me,” Keith says. “Idiot. You could’ve gotten killed.”

Before Lance has a chance to reply, Keith kisses him. It’s more angry than affectionate and when Lance kissed him back he’s pushing in the same anger, but it’s perfectly _them_ and Keith doesn’t know how else to express how in love with Lance he is.

“If you ever do anything like that again, I’ll kill you myself.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure they won’t take me back even if I wanted to join again.”

Keith glares at him. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“Let’s pretend it never happened,” Lance suggests.

“That’s fine with me.”  

Though Keith is still angry about it, a part of him is elated Lance did that for him. And though he didn’t think it was possible to love Lance even more, it turns out it’s possible because _Lance got stabbed for me._

Five minutes later, Keith says, “Thank you.”   

Lance smiles, almost self-consciously. “Love makes us do weird things, huh?”

Keith smiles back at him. The past doesn’t exist anymore, and all that _does_ exist is them. “It does.”

-

**Two years later**

**-**

Keith puts the glass down. It’s one in the afternoon and he doesn’t know why he keeps coming to this bar, but it must be something to do with nostalgia and the fact that it has the best beer in town. He doesn’t drink whisky so much anymore, though Lance still drinks it like a fiend. Lance is sitting beside him, chatting with Allura.

“And you wouldn’t believe this, but they literally slapped the camera out of my hand and let out this pterodactyl screech,” Lance is saying, “and they turned and ran like fucking Usain Bolt—”

Allura is laughing, shaking her head and spluttering in disbelief. “Really?”

“Really!” Lance exclaims, turning to Keith. “Babe, back me up here.”

“I wasn’t there,” Keith points out.

“Well, it really happened!”

“If it happened, why won’t you tell us their name?” Allura asks.

“Legal issues. And also, it’s not relevant.”

“Fine. On another topic, I don’t understand why you won’t get me Beyoncé tickets,” she says.

“I already bought you tickets.”

“But I want to go again!”

“Then get your own fucking tickets.”

Allura frowns and crosses her arms, looking back at Keith. “You have the worst husband.”

Smiling, Keith leans over to kiss Lance’s cheek and slip his hand into Lance’s, feeling the cold metal of his diamond ring against his hand. “I have the best husband.”

“Aw, babe,” Lance cooes, “I’m the best?”

“Don’t make me take it back,” Keith threatens, though he knows he’ll never take it back for as long as they live.

“You know he had a crush on me when we first met?” Lance asks Allura, an annoyingly triumphant grin on his face.

“Lance, we’re married,” Keith says as Allura says, “Of-fucking-course I do, he never shut up about you.”

“Allura!” Keith complains. “I thought you were my friend.”

Allura shrugs. “Lance got me Beyoncé tickets.”

“That’s because he’s rich. I’m broke. If I had a net worth of twenty million dollars I would get you Beyoncé tickets—”

“You share a bank,” Allura says, “and you’re nowhere near broke, Mr. Chief of the largest police force in—”

“Let’s not talk about that,” Keith interrupts.

“But your job is my favorite topic!” Allura protests. “It’s so ironic. The Chief of Police is married to an ex—”

Lance covers Allura’s mouth with his hand. “Don’t.”

Allura mumbles incoherently until Lance takes his hand away. Then, she turns to Keith and says, “You did end up being a mafia husband after all.”

Keith laughs and looks at Lance fondly. “I guess I did.”

Lance laughs too, and puts his arm around Keith, kissing his forehead. “My trophy husband.”

Allura cringes. “That phrase. It brings back horrible memories.”

“Quiet,” Keith whispers, “I told you—”

“Oh my god.” Lance stares at Keith. “Did you tell her…”

“Friends tell each other stuff,” Keith tries to say, but he can tell it’s a weak defense. “Allura, I hate you.”

“It’s not my fault that you decided to tell me about your weird kinky roleplay thing—”

Lance’s face is flaming red in embarrassment. “I want a divorce.”

“No, you don’t,” Keith tells him.

“You’re right. I don’t.” Lance gives him a wicked smirk and Keith thinks, _oh, shit._ “Who else would come up with the mafia boss slash innocent, virgin police officer—”

“Shut up!” Keith buries his face in his hands as Allura starts laughing again.

“You told me Lance came up with it,” Allura accuses, jabbing a finger at him. “I owe you an apology, Lance. I’ve been judging you. A _lot._ ”

“It’s not my fault my husband is abnormally kinky—”

“Now, now.” Allura pats Keith’s shoulder like a condescending older sister. “Let’s not judge the man’s kinks. It’s his choice if he wants to be handcuffed to a bridge in public – which I’m assuming is not Lance’s kink either, by the way.”

Lance shakes his head. “All Keith.”

Keith peeks out from behind his fingers, glowering at Lance. “I didn’t tell anyone when you asked me to—”

“Hey,” Lance says hastily, his eyes widening, “I’m sorry. Don’t tell her that.”

“Tell me what?” Allura asks, grinning.

“New subject,” Lance announces, not very subtly. “Keith, I’m taking you on another honeymoon.”

“Why?” Keith asks, though the idea sounds like heaven to him. Another honeymoon – another heavenly week of staying in bed together, swimming in light green seas by sandy white beaches and the whole time, just him and Lance.

“Because you’re the fucking love of my life,” Lance says. “And if we stay here I think Allura’s going to wrangle confidential information out of both of us.”

“Maybe we should focus on the love of your life part,” Keith advises, and Lance squeezes his hip lightly. “Unless I’m an excuse for a honeymoon in Cuba with kinky sex.”

“You’re everything but that,” Lance murmurs, quiet enough for only them to hear, and suddenly it feels like Allura’s not there and it’s only them. “I mean, it’s fucking awesome, but you know I would love you without it. I’d love you no matter what.”

Keith smiles. “I’m thankful for that every day.”

As the conversation continues and Allura continues pestering Lance about Beyoncé tickets, Keith imagines what his life would be like now if he refused to go home with Lance that day two years ago. He takes a moment to be thankful that he doesn’t ever have to know what that would be like, and he thinks a quiet _thank you_ to his past self for following his heart, as cheesy as it sounds. Maybe this relationship is messy and wild and they end up in screaming matches way too often, but it’s also pure and intoxicating and beautiful.

They love each other too much to want anything other than this, and Keith knows that all he will ever want for the rest of their lives is Lance.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this :)


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